The Cross in Our Stars

Chapter 4

Trees blur in the rush of feet against earth, their full boughs a speckled canopy against the sunlight. Clouds of mist curl around gnarled tree trunks like floating serpents as Nira takes the longer way on her usual method of escapism. Logs felled by rot and time become hurdles to jump over, vines swing her across algae filled puddles on the forest floor, and embedded stones challenge her balancing skills upon their mossy surfaces.

Her life became a long jog, a sprint across space. There is relief at controlling how far she can go, of where the destination will lead. Like a carbonated drink given release from its confines, able to be enjoyed as it's meant to yet unable to return to its former state. That's what freedom does.

At the edge of the Grimbush, where lush and wild growth dwindles to sparse grass, sand and heat, Nira reaches into the pocket of her black yoga leggings and pulls out her fox ears to put on, surveying the area. Keeping away from the main road, she becomes a streak of black and tan. If she were going any slower, the tan hoodie would just be around her waist in the heat of the Badlands, but it only takes less than two minutes to cross on foot compared to the one hour car journey within the arid desert.

Reaching the edge of the city of Evervalley, she begins to jog at a normal human pace. An absolute snail's crawl in comparison to the blur that she was moments ago. The truest test of patience and endurance.

She would feel pity for the majority of humans with their incomparable lack of speed, if it wasn't overshadowed by their superiority complex. She's honestly surprised that after the Two World War humans haven't exploited the genetic makeup of the hulking warriors of Sor to strengthen their own armies yet. No doubt that they're trying, but if confirmation of that ever got out, annihilation would be imminent. Sorans greatly overpower most races in the galaxy in sheer brute strength, physique, and battle strategy. It would be ants against living mountains of wisdom.

Hot wind full of sand becomes repelled as the terrain gives way to structures that obscure the sunlight. The sounds of city life float in the air alongside almost stifling pollution from vehicles and people alike, interchangeable with how they saturate the breathing space.

The only aroma that matters to Nira is that of fresh doughnuts, their sweetness wafting just out of reach but letting her know that just one wouldn't hurt. The joy of biting into freshly golden fried dough, tantalizingly half cloaked in dark chocolate, and encountering the silky custard hidden in the middle after a salivating bite. The amalgamation of flavors as they roam over her taste buds, working in conjunction with the olfactory system, curls her toes-

Her rhythmic footfalls lose their beat, almost tumbling to the floor due to her lack of concentration. Bystanders pausing or slowing down in their leisurely stride to either make sure the stumbling woman didn't need assistance, or if she could boost their likes. That's not the kind of publicity Vixen needs on her day off: of her tumbling in a doughnut laden stupor. Oh, how the tabloids would spin that one. Nira continues towards her destination within the wilderness of concrete beneath glass and steel.

Automatic doors slide open, the unique scent inviting her into a different kind of escape. Nira sighs in relief as she walks into her third home, giving a wave of greeting to the usual staff on shift she's acquainted with on a first name basis. By now, they don't have to guess where she's headed.

Aisles in neat rows housed books in an orderly fashion, paying no heed to their widths and heights. The rows stretch far into the first floor, staircases that curve on either side to take patrons to an upper level with walls that hold more written worlds to discover. The silence is preserved by the carpet, which muffles the strides of library goers.

Ten rows down, and then a right turn to her favorite section. With the library being available to all, there are a few others down the same aisle, but she doesn't expect to see someone who, to most, wouldn't fit the usual description of a bookworm. It makes her pause in her tracks.